Soul of an Intrepid Hero
by Addiccus Phinch
Summary: A second chance, a new beginning. A tale told before, of the land of the gods and the fading of the flame. Our lives may be as fleeting as the passage of a train, but as one man finds out it is possible to go beyond death. Awakened in a world familiar, and yet different than remembered he must fight to survive, and protect what is dear. *SoaH redone, retold, and re-imagined. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1: Forgotten Doll

Life is a curious, fickle bitch who's whims and fancies are so often beyond the scope of the human mind. We are born when we never asked for such a thing in the first place, and we die just when we are starting to appreciate the situation as a whole. Death comes to us all, we are told that the moment we are old enough to comprehend the concept. Death was the end, the finale, the "Game Over" screen. At least, thats what they kept telling me.

As it was I was beginning to think I had been lied to. True, I did see a light at the end of a long tunnel but it was certainly not the soft glow of heaven. It was a cold, artificial light belonging to the face of an oncoming train. My ears were still ringing from its horn, and I could almost taste the sparks on my tongue...if I had a tongue. From what I could tell, I was all of a disembodied consciousness floating in an endless black abyss. This, of course, should have been alarming to me in general but then again I was already dead so I didn't feel like I had much to worry about.

Still, even without a body or a life to lose I found myself wondering about what would happen next. Religion had obviously offered various potential retirement homes for the soul, but I had yet to see anything but the black. No pearly gates for the pure of heart, nor did I see the flaming office door for the chronic masturbators. Nothing but the empty dark.

At least, there WAS nothing in the empty dark until the great golden eye.

Now calling it golden may have been unduly generous, for it was more a sickly yellow than anything. Labeling it an eye as well, may have been erroneous. There was no pupil, just a great spiral beginning in the center of the orb and spreading out to the edges. No lashes, just frame of blackness. In truth nothing remotely relateable to an eye, save for its general shape and its intense focus directed at myself.

But I was already dead, and just like own disembodied situation I was not as nearly as alarmed as I might have should have been at this development. Being deceased seemed to do a great deal to chill one out, all in all.

And then a voice echoed in the darkness, the eye spoke. Even remaining motionless in the void I knew the voice came from it, and not just because it was the only thing around to speak. Its words echoed in me, reverberated in my bones, and struck me with a chord of odd familiarity.

The voice was mesmerizing, its tones relaxing. Nothing like you would expect a giant spiraled eye to sound like, at least considering the current circumstances. It was kindly, wizened, and smooth. Something you would associate with a beloved grandfather, or a friendly librarian. It was the sort of voice that could read a child a bedtime story, and have them asleep before they finished the first page. The kind of voice you would trust implicitly.

The words it spoke lingered in my mind for a time, but I can no longer recall them now. With the words long since faded, all that remains were the feelings they had given me. The eye had spoken of hope, of dreams, of chances lost and something that might be regained. I remember it told me that I could make right a missed opportunity, that I could be the hero that I never had been able to be in my first go around.

And it wouldn't cost me a penny.

It obviously was some form of ethereal scam. With deals like this, there was always a catch. Anything too good to be true had to have some little devil in the details, waiting for you to turn your back before it shoved its pitchfork right up your unsuspecting ass. I should have known better, and some part of me DID know better. A little nagging voice in the back of my mind, warning me that everything wasn't as it seemed.

But I gave in. I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. How could I not? Yeah sure, it was peaceful here, floating in the endless nothing but I knew that an eternity of that would soon drive me insane. That, and how on earth could I pass up a chance to live again? I gave my assent.

I knew I had made a mistake when below the eye opened up a vast maw of humongous teeth, and the little voice cautioning me in the back of my mind let out what I was damn sure was a long suffering sigh. Of course, with the rows of massive serrated ivory columns lined up right in front of me I was more preoccupied with screaming. There was laughter. Deep, booming, and all the while unnerving when it harmonized with my terrified screeches. Then the spiral pupil of the eye began to spin, and I lost all sense of everything.

When my wits finally returned to me it was plain to see that everything had changed. Most of the sensations I was bombarded were well known to me, but overwhelming. My newly returned eyes were blinded by the assaulting light, and I opened my mouth involuntarily to cry out. That in turn turned out to be its own mistake as I began to choke and gag when the wretched taste of dust, mold, and rot filled my mouth. I was torn between grasping at my throat, and trying to clutching my ears for even my own pained sounds were intolerable.

In my confused mishmash of motions I somehow managed to trip myself up. I fell to the ground sideways, landing in a puddle of what felt like flaming demon piss and crashing hard on the stone beneath it. The impact on my shoulder felt like a truck had hit me, and my coughing doubled as another squeal escaped my lips. As I thrashed about like an agonized cuttlefish, I accidentally splashed some of that aforementioned demon piss onto my face. To my immense surprise, it was by some small measure soothing.

Soothing enough to cause pause my panicked frenzy long enough for me to get some sense of what was going on. A few more rough coughs slipped me by before I gained control of my lungs and evened my own breathing. During that, I remembered as well how to close my eyes and thus shut off a huge portion over the sensory overload that was tormenting me. My side was still throbbing from the fall, my ears were still ringing, and even with my coughing having subsided that awful taste still danced on my tongue.

Even with all that taken into account, with my eyes closed and coughing ceased I was already feeling a great better. Now that bar wasn't particularly high set admittedly, but it was still a hell of an improvement. My spirits lifted even higher when the burning sensation of the liquid faded completely, and I realized that it wasn't flaming demon piss as I first had concluded but water instead. The tiniest amount that had made its way into my mouth still attested to its similarities to demon piss, but that was in taste alone.

So I layed there for some time, eyes closed, resting in the puddle. After a while the ringing and throbbing both went the way of the dinosaurs and I felt brave enough to crack one eye open. I winced as the light violently penetrated my poor pupil in a way reminiscent of inmate on inmate violation, but I was able to keep the lids open long enough to adjust.

The first thing I was able to make out with my now useful sight was a gaping hole in the center of the stone ceiling above me. From its uneven edges, and the decrepit state of the stone in general it was obviously not an architectural skylight, but an accidental one born of age and disrepair. A few loose bricks elsewhere in the ceiling did little to reassure me that the entire construction wasn't about to fall down and kill me...again.

I opened my other eye and after a period of intense squinting a little more came into focus but the light was altogether still too sharp. Thankfully a cloud lazily drifted overhead, muting the light and dulling its intensity. This also had the added effect of softening the ambiance of the entire room, soothing my frazzled nerves further.

A strange thought struck me, and I had to prevent myself from chuckling lest the coughing return with a vengeance. Screaming, crying, senses assaulted and thrashing about, I figured this must be what its like to be born again. Literally. That was followed by the question of whether I had simply popped into existence right here, or if I had fallen through that sky vagina overhead.

That last thought DID force a chuckle out of me and I immediately regretted it. I raised one of my hands from the water, and I could feel the droplets splash against my chest as I moved it to my face. When it came into view I paused, something was off.

It took only a moment for my eyes to refocus from my possible stony birth canal onto my arm, and when they did my coughs died in my throat, smothered by a lump. That wasn't my hand, that COULDN'T be my hand. My hand was human. My hand was smooth. My hand certainly didn't look like hand of the lovechild of the Mummy and a strip of beef jerky.

The skin was reddish brown, and shriveled up like a dried corpse. I could see almost every joint in my fingers, the knuckle bones distinct and sharp. Suspended in disbelief, I reflexively moved my fingers hoping beyond reason that they were somehow in the water and that what I was looking at wasn't a part of my body. The noise I made when the emaciated digits followed my commands was less than dignified to say the least. To be honest I was half expecting them to crackle and fall off any second, but they moved easily and smoothly despite their looks.

On auto-pilot I lifted up the rest of my arm to look at it in the light, and there were apparently no breaks on this nope train. My eyes traced the protruding bones, and the strong lines of the ligaments from the tips of my fingers down my wrist and along my forearm. Everywhere my eyes strayed I saw only the same corpselike flesh that was now my own. The swallow of fear was reflexive.

Tentatively I lifted my left hand to join my right in my field of view, in order to feel directly and confirm that what I was seeing was real. My left hand was just as fucked up as my right, and I was afraid to find out what the sensations of my own skin would be. Despite my earlier smoothness of motion, I could see my fingers shaking as jerky approached jerky.

It felt like touching an old boot. Tough, leathery, it lacked the warm, supple give of flesh as I knew it. Despite its rougher appearance, it felt smoother than I initially gave it credit for. Though, as I continued to...touch myself I noticed that while pain had been sharp and bright before most other tactile sensations felt muted. Dulled. It wasn't far fetched to think that my nerve endings were just as atrophied as everything else seemed to be.

As I rubbed my hands over each other a new detail caught my attention. On the back of my left hand was what looked a to be a blemish. I brought it closer to my face and it revealed itself to not be a blemish but in fact a hole. It was maybe an inch across, and it looked to go deep. Deep enough that I was sure it should have gone all the way through but all I could see when I looked into it was blackness. I flipped over my hand to view the palm, in order to be sure.

Yup. Nothing. My palm was completely fine, aside from the obvious horrific disfiguration of course. Flipping it back around I stared deep into that mark, and it seemed to be endless. The longer I stared the stranger I began to feel, and I felt like I could get lost in the endless of it, and I might have had I not seen the most curious detail of all.

That being that I was on fire. Or rather, the hole was edged by a tiny ring of flame, only barely burning and almost missable when not being intently examined. Something clicked in my head, an inkling of an idea I didn't quite yet understand fully. Not that it mattered much at the moment, as I was torn between screaming further at everything I had seen (Coughing be damned) or trying to see how far I could get my finger into my hole.

...Ahem

What I mean to say is that I was thinking about getting knuckle deep into my dark ring.

Wait, fuck, thats worse.

I decided against sodomizing my own hand and let both of them rest on my chest. I nearly hissed when I felt the same leathery skin on my sternum. It wasn't terribly surprising, but I just hadn't thought it through. Of course the rest of my body would be just as jerky like as my arms, it was logical to assume all of me had gone this route.

It took alot of effort to keep myself from touching my own face because with everything I was processing I didn't think I could handle feeling for myself what I already knew. I wasn't the vainest person in the world, but there is something special about a human face that ties directly to who you are. To find out what my face was like, to understand just what may have been lost could prove to be too much for me. Hell, I hadn't even bothered to check...

With a quickness only mirrored by my earlier crazed motions I sat up and looked down at myself. Particularly, my crotch. I barely registered that for the most part I was near naked, save for a loincloth around my waist; hiding my junk from the wraths of the world. I nearly tore the clothing's fabric in a frenzied grasping motion, the greatest fear a man can have fueling this manic burst of movement. Finally my undead eyes were able to see the cause of my concern, and I felt the need to cry.

I wont go into detail about what I saw, but lets just say that my fears were validated and if I was feeling regret about the deal I had made I was downright angry about it now. There are just some things you don't mess with man, some things are just too sacred.

Although even through my physical pride was...wounded I still had some left over in my soul. Now that I was sitting up, I chose to switch my focus from my current physiological issues to the pressing environmental ones at hand. Certainly my ability to do so was grounded in my strong emotional fortitude, and not that I was about to cry if I kept my attention on my current disfigurations.

I was in a room, made of various cuts of the same kind of stone. Dark gray, damp from moisture and occasionally tinted with green where moss and mold had set in. The room itself wasn't particularly large, from where I was sitting it might have been twelve feet by twelve feet if perfectly square. In one corner there was a pile of straw, looking to be as damp as the puddle I was still sitting in. In various other spots of the room I could see a couple of small to medium sized pots. Only about one or two of which seemed to be mostly intact, the rest having cracked or shattered.

For the most part I was the only "living" thing I could see, except for a few dark shadows that skirted the edges of the room I assumed to be rats. At least, I hoped they were rats. No real reason to worry otherwise but I had just experienced a bunch of weird shit so far and at this point I wasn't going to take anything for granted. I figured that doing that would do a good bit to prepare me for whatever might come my way. Of course, that still didn't make it easier to understand why I was lacking pants and only had a loincloth to my name.

As much as id like to joke about it, it really sitting up I was able to see the majority of my body and really drove home just how twisted my form had become. I couldn't stand to look at it any longer, and made up my mind to get up and hopefully to find some pants. Shoes as well, would certainly be appreciated. Clothes in generally really were needed, since I had no idea where or when I was and even if public nudity was accepted I doubted horrific aberrations were commonplace enough to warrant letting my raisin nipples out.

So I leaned myself further forward and placed a palm against the ground and shifted my weight onto it before moving my feet underneath me and pushing. Thus, for the very first time I stood up in this new world unknown to me, of my own will and power. My legs wobbled a bit beneath me, but held firm. I shivered a bit as the disgusting water dripped off of my backside, the sensation being unique as the drops moved through the many canals of my crinkled skin.I would have gotten goosebumps, but that same skin rendered it impossible.

Now it was time to get out of this filthy room, and to see what this second chance really had to offer me. Whatever came next, whatever new surprises were in store, I was ready for them! Or at least thats what I told myself, but hey! In the right situations a little bravado goes a long way, and as it was I could use any comfort I could get.

So I glanced on last time at the skylight before turning around to see the wall that had been behind me the entire time, and the door I was sure would be there.

I froze, confused and more than a little perturbed. The door was there to the far right, though calling it a gate seemed more appropriate than door. But that obviously wasn't what had me stopped, no. It was the large letters, hand painted in a dark red smear I was sure had been blood, that stretched from one side of the wall to the other. They were not just random letters mind you, with their creepy powers combined they formed five words and...a doll? Seemed to be stuck on the wall at the end of the sentence as some form of demented punctuation mark.

I took a step towards the macabre mural and reached for the doll, which was affixed by a nail through its strange dress. It was faceless, with spindly arms and legs and an all around dingy look to it. After pulling it from the wall, I looked at it close. Something about it tickled the back of my brain. It was familiar to me, I had seen it before. Somewhere. But where?

I looked back to the wall but then my eyes snapped back to the doll. In the second I had looked away I swore I saw it twitch in a way inanimate scraps of fabric and stuffing shouldn't do. Ever. For ANY reason. Yet as I stared it down, it gave no indications at all of being anything but a strange little doll. I shook my head, and cautiously moved my eyes away from the doll and back to the wall. Ready the entire time for it to either burst into flames or to try and leap out of my hands and tear out my throat.

It wasn't paranoia, it was legitimate concern dammit.

But doll aside, the words were still a pretty big concern. Unlike the doll there was no familiarity in them, nothing I recognized save for the medium they were painted in and the occasional hand print belaying their method of transcription. I felt the need to read them aloud, and so my first coherent words in this new world were thus.

"Long may the sun shine?"

* * *

So, my dear readers, what do you think? Is it what you were expecting, or perhaps hoping?

Or shall I expect you outside of my window with torches and pitchforks in the middle of the night?

I mean I know most of you were ready to lynch me after being so long gone, and that is fair.

Maybe I have become a Lord of Cinder, art thou unkindled?

My story is long and convoluted, and now is not the time, nor the place for it.

Before I get back to writing Chapter 2: Estus Flask I have two people i'd like to thank...ironically.

Terran34, if you are reading this now id like to thank you personally.

Your review was well thought out, and all in all contained some fantastic advice.

A great deal of which was taken to heart, and I feel that you will see that reflected in this chapter.

As for the second "Thank you", it is not for any one soul. It is for all of you.

While it has certainly been a while since you have seen me, I never forgot any of you.

Thank you all for reading, for waiting, and for staying with me for so long.

Lets have a hell of a good time with this eh?

PRAISE THE SUN


	2. Chapter 2: Dungeon Cell Key

I had no way of truly telling how long I had been trapped in that cell. It was a cell, by the way. I figured that much out after I noticed how the door was less of a door and more of an infuriatingly strong grid of rusty metal bars. My hands ached for what felt like days the first time I tried to force my way through, not that I would know. See as I figured out something was very wrong with the day and night cycle here, as in there wasn't one. Since I had awoken in the cell, night had come perhaps twice. Issue is, I was more than certain I had been in the cell for more than two days.

In fact, I was more than certain I had been in the cell for over two WEEKS.

Now considering that the moon must have had a child support payment or something and thus fucked off and took the night with it, I obviously didn't have a way of confirming this theory. However, when you are stuck in a cell alone for long enough with nothing but a peculiar doll and some rats to keep you company some strange habits begin to form. Especially when you are unable even to sleep in order to pass the time, another unpleasant side effect of my new life on top of the dog treat look I was currently sporting.

In fact, the only benefit I had discovered from my resurrection was that I hadn't felt the urge to eat or drink. Not having to deal with hunger or thirst was a hell of a gift, especially when it meant trying to catch angry rats and drinking water that had only gotten worse from its initial rating of "demon piss". That was it. That was the only upside. Aside from that one reprieve, even the awesomeness of being brought back to life had been made wholly unpleasant by my ordeal.

And it wasn't just the rude awakening, terrible living conditions, and difficulty in securing future dates that tormented me. Soon after the weight of my confinement sank in, I began to have hallucinations. It started off with this low rumble, and at first I thought the ceiling was actually about to crash on me. Clutching the doll I dove for the small spot of safety beneath the skylight. The rumble grew in volume and intensity, before ending in a loud crash. I flinched and held the doll close to my chest, hoping that getting stoned in the worst way possible wouldn't hurt too much.

But when the pain didn't come I looked around in confusion. Nothing had changed, the roof hadn't collapsed. Had their been in earthquake? Did I just imagine it? Then I heard a new sound. A distinct thump that rhythmically echoed in my cell. The sound was a great deal closer than the rumble had initially been, and I was quite perplexed. Either there was some kind of rave, someone AGGRESSIVELY humping a wall, or a really fat dude stomping around in the cell next to mine. I chalked it up to a hallucination after the first night had passed, and the thumps had quieted nor changed their pattern. It was almost like the ceaseless ticking of the clock, and as far as hallucinations go it was quite the irking one.

But that was only the first of what I was sure were many psychotic breaks I had in that cell. The second of those breaks apparent one happened almost right before the third, and they basically tied into each other. While pacing in that cell, and unintentionally mirroring the endless thumps which had nearly driven me to the point of tearing out my hair, I realized my memory was off. Everything before the train accident was muddied, spotty, and jumbled enough to be nigh incomprehensible. The occasional glimpse I had into my life as it was, was short and little more than a burst of color and emotion.

And every time I had one of those moments, one of those peeks into the past I did all that I could to hold onto it and expand it. An image of a birthday party, who was there? Friends? Family? Could I see my mothers face? Did I even recognize it in the mess of people? Was it my birthday party or someone else's? Who's name was it on the banner? I squeezed my eyes shut and grasped at my skull. What was the name, what was my name? Who was I? Who AM I?

More than once during one of these breakdowns I would begin talking to myself, generally unintentionally. Whatever fragment of my past that was currently the catalyst for my panic would have me mumbling lowly the questions aloud. That, oddly enough, was not indicative of my mental state. Instead it was a habit of mine carried over into this new life, so despite the crazy connotations it wasn't troubling to me. Hell, actually having some sound in the cell other than the thumping was more than welcome.

"Having trouble?"

I stopped mid mumble. The voice was high, soft, and strange. It sounded less like a voice and more like cloth on cloth, rubbing together and just happening to make something akin to words. It certainly didn't come from my own coarse throat, but that was the problem. I was the only thing in this cell with the capacity for speech so what the hell was talking? I looked to the cell door and ran over, hoping somebody might have been there. However the hallway as I could see it was still empty and my brief spark of hope was dashed.

"What are you looking for? There is nobody there Rufio."

It felt like someone had clipped my spine to a car battery. That was it, that was the name I had forgotten. MY name that I had forgotten. It felt right, sounded right, and clicked into place in a nearly physical way. Past the initial shock, it actually felt rather good to have that knowledge once again. A piece of me solid enough to hold on to, something that could rest at my core. There was a tickle in the back of my skull, very brief, that questioned the validity of my acceptance. In fact, it questioned the validity of the name as a whole.

But that niggling doubt faded in the face of the more pressing question, just who the fuck was talking to me?

Since nothing was at the gate, I turned to glance at the skylight but stopped halfway. Against the far wall, where I most commonly sat whenever I wasn't pacing or attempting half-hearted exercise, sat the doll I had found pinned to the wall. This was a problem because as far as I remembered, I had at no point placed the doll down in such a way. Most of the time it just laid wherever I had thrown it last, whenever I wasn't cuddling it out of raw loneliness and desperation anyway.

But it was sitting straight up, supported by some force certainly not supplied by the odd stuffing that served as its spine. Its spindly little legs were splayed out in front of it, the dolls arms resting at its sides. Its neck, like its back, was straight allowing its blank face to stare at me in a way quite unnerving and naturally impossible. I felt a mild draft and realized that my mouth had fallen slightly agape. I closed it before anything had a chance to take roost, and tried to process what exactly I was seeing.

"You...You can talk?"

My voice was shakier than I would like it to be, and still rather rough from disuse. The doll made no attempt to respond to my inquiry, and continued to sit there creepily and silently. I took a few steps toward it, my approach wary and slow. The doll didn't react, and I began to feel the balance of confusion and apprehension I was feeling lean more towards the former.

Then the dolls head twitched and I screamed while jumping straight into the air. After landing I attempted to regain my composure, and while doing so I heard faint laughter. The doll was shaking slightly, and the laughter had the same clothy rasp as the earlier words I had heard. It confirmed what I had accused, that the doll was somehow sentient and speaking. However having confirmation didn't relieve the creepiness factor in the slightest. If anything, it only made it worse.

Even with that at play, I still had to make a move. As I saw it I only had a few viable options before me. I could pretend like none of this ever happened, which seemed both the most appealing and least effective. I could attempt to communicate with the doll again, assuming of course that it was either willing to communicate or that I wasn't insane. Or, there was door number three, which involved diving onto it and tearing its little fabric head from its body...And maybe eating it afterwards for good measure.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and what not.

Then it stopped its giggling, and strangely enough let out a sound quite similar to a breathless gasp before speaking again.

"Yes, Rufio, I can speak. Out of the two of us you seem to be the only one having difficulty with the action."

I couldn't help but to blink in surprise. Apparently the doll was a smarmy little shit, who would have guessed? Still, the jab at me managed to cut through my slight hysteria and I was finally able to compose myself and formulate a proper response.

"Alright, you can speak. Good to know...how are you speaking?"

My question was straight to the point, as I could not think of anything else pertinent to ask. The doll, in retort, shrugged.

"I have absolutely no idea, but probably because you've gone quite mad. After all, Rufio, you've been in this cell for quite a while without any human contact. That would drive anyone bonkers, wouldn't it?"

My jaw must have been holding some form of bass because it felt the urge to drop, and I had to suppress it. I got my mouth working in short order and began mumbling to myself as I had been earlier. Like clockwork I began to pace the floor.

"So you aren't speaking. I'm just crazy. Ok. Well. So I've been stuck here long enough that i'm hallucinating the doll talking to me and then I started talking back and its-"

I looked over my shoulder to see the doll still sitting straight up, its little head cocked slightly in a facsimile of curiosity.

"-Its still sitting up which it shouldn't be able to do and it also shouldn't be able to talk so I must be visually hallucinating as well which means that there is a possibility that I've gone completely crazy and that none of this might be real and I might not be in a cell at all but just the mental construct of a cell..."

My voice continued to get quieter until I noticed I was moving my lips without sound actually escaping. I had unknowingly run out of air, which didn't discomfort me nearly as much as I felt it should. Like an idiot, I sort of just stood there without breathing to see how long it would take before I felt anything. A minute and a half went by before the tickle started in my chest indicating politely it would like some oxygen. It took three more minutes after that before the polite tickle turned into an angry mugging and I was forced to suck in a massive gulp of air.

"I hate to interrupt your mild reprieve from the crushing weight of the reality at hand, but that looked absolutely ridiculous and it would be in our shared interest if you didn't do that again. Your ego cant handle take more abuse, it can barely handle your face as it is."

I didn't turn but I glared from the corner of my eye.

"I think you might need to shut up. The more you talk the more I want to talk back. Talking to myself is bad enough, but talking to you just CANT be good for me."

"Well if you want me to stop talking, perhaps you shouldn't be so insane. After all, its YOUR fault i'm talking in the first place. I didn't ask for this you know."

I was almost offended, and feeling close to real anger. In light of my craziness the dolls talking had begin to lose its shock factor and that void was being replaced with nothing good. I indignantly shouted at the foot sized doll on the ground in my cell, which did more to show just how far I had gone than anything.

"I didn't ask for this either!"

The doll at this point hopped up on its two little feet, wobbled for a moment to get its balance, and started "stomping" towards me. I didn't squeak, I promise. That was the rats.

"Aaaaactually you sort of did Rufio! Your the one who took the deal without even asking WHAT THE TERMS AND CONDITIONS WERE! Now WE are stuck in this nasty cell until help arrives, and who knows how long that might be!"

The doll didn't have fingers, but was actually thrusting its small hand at me to point accusingly. I threw my hands in the air and stepped right over the doll, ignoring its clothy protest, and sat down in my usual spot. I crossed my arms in a huff, and stared into the skylight. I wasn't going to look at the insufferable little projection of my doubts and fears, that would give it some satisfaction.

The doll briefly went quiet. When it spoke again, its clothy rasp was tinted by incredulity.

"...Are you pouting?"

I still refused to look, but I did respond.

"Well if you are in my head you tell me, you should know after all."

I sat in silence for a time, and I wasn't sure what the doll was doing. I had thought that it was still standing there, I being under the false assumption that I would hear its footsteps if it moved. Eventually I got bored of sitting there staring at nothing and gave in to my slight urge to look. The doll was still in the same spot, but was no longer standing. Instead it was resting on its side, collapsed like a lifeless...well...doll.

I sighed, stood, and went and picked up the doll. I held it aloft, close to my face and stared at it for a time trying to discern if there was anything more than what was immediately visible. No sound, no indications of movement, nothing remotely suggestive that the doll was capable of our earlier discourse. I pulled its little fabric body close to my chest and squeezed it slightly, before going to sit back down. I couldn't tell which was the more frightening moment that day, when the doll had started to speak to me for the first time, or when I realized that the doll hadn't spoken to me at all.

For the rest of the time I was in that cell, I don't remember standing up from my place against the wall. Occasionally I would Look up into the skylight and stare into the sky beyond, wondering if this was the only sight id be able to see for the rest of my un-life. Most of the time however, was spent with my head bowed and the doll tightly wrapped in my embrace. I still would mutter and talk to myself, occasionally directing my inquiries to the doll but to no avail.

The longer I waited, the easier it became. At one point a strange peace sort of settled over me, and my feelings of the cell inverted from oppressive to comforting. I had grown used to its dingy walls, decrepit floor and shattered ceiling. Even the words that were written in the blood, long since dried and crusted, became something of a mantra for me. Sometimes I would say them aloud, sometimes in my head. Other times I wasn't able to tell the difference between the two.

"Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine..."

And so it continued like that. The one thing I wish I had noticed in that time period was the deep ache in my left hand right below that strange burning hole, and how it only got deeper as time went by. Worst of all, the deeper that ache went the more I began to feel something I had been spared when I first awoke. Something akin to hunger was stirring within me, and there was a gnawing in my chest that hadn't been there before.

"...Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine..."

Not that I paid it much mind. There is pertinent old saying involving a frog in boiling water. See, you cant just toss a frog in boiling water cause it will jump right out. Instead, if you place a frog in cool water and slowly turn up the heat, it wont move cause it wont notice the gradual increase in temperature until it was too late. Now I have no idea why the hell people are trying to boil frogs in the first place, probably a french thing now that I think about it. The point was I had no idea of my gradual decline until I was almost far too gone.

"...Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shine. Long may the sun shi-"

Then the doll spoke up, breaking the silence it had maintained since our first conversation and interrupting my endless mantra.

"Rufio! Look up!"

My reaction wasn't very punctual, as I hadn't moved in quite some time leaving me with an awful crink in my neck that slowed me down. Thus my head only made it halfway up before something large and dark fell through the air and crashed into the ground. I blinked slowly, then continued to raise my eyes to the hole the thing just fell from. For the first time, something was actually there. Well, somebody. At the edge of my skylight crouched a knight in full armor. With the sunlight shining behind them, it was hard to make out any real detail but I could see the light glinting off of their plate helm and make out a hint of blue on what I believed to be a surcoat. The knight, seeing that I had noticed it spared me a nod and then disappeared from sight.

"...Oscar..."

I spoke the name unconsciously, it simply rolled off of my tongue. This event felt far too familiar, as much so as my own name had previously. I knew that knight, I had seen him before. My decrepit eyes shot wide open and I took in the cell with a whole new perspective, especially now so that there was a corpse in the center, framed by the light. I scrambled to my feet, half dashed and half tripped over the the remains and flipped them over. I paid no mind to the twisted look of putrid agony left on the rotted face of the body I was currently pillaging, all of my attention was focused on its crotch.

Particularly its belt right above it, you sickos.

There, hooked on a metal clip stapled to the eroding leather was a ring of keys, most rusted beyond recognition save for one. It was larger than the rest, with a wide bow and a complex looking bit. I gripped it tightly and yanked, almost flying back when the metal of the key ring shattered into rusty shards. Pulling myself up, I didn't yet have time to celebrate. If this worked, if this actually was what I thought it was so much of everything was about to make sense. I rushed to the cell gate as I had many times before, though this time with something new.

I gripped the key with my left hand, and took a moment to stare at the burning ring of flesh on the back of the appendage. I was sure I knew what it was now, and what it meant. Full of confidence and excitement I snaked my arm through the bars, key in hand, and attempted to reach the other side. I was so close to freedom, so close to escaping I could almost taste it on my tongue! Just a few more inches and all would be within my grasp!

"Ow, shit!"

I cursed as an unseen jagged piece of metal from the rusted gate cut my jerky flesh, and pulled back my arm reflexively. As I did so, they key was caught horizontally between two bars, and jerked out of my hand. I heard the metallic clang as it bounced along the ground, and came to rest a solid meter past the gate. I stared in abject horror as the realization of what had just occurred sunk in. I had managed to drop the fucking KEY that would allow me to escape my cell. Even worse, it was a good foot and a half beyond my reach. I was stuck in here, because I was a dumbass.

I never felt like crying as much as I did in that moment. To have such a surge of hope, only to have it dashed right after was like getting a swift kick in the testicles of your soul. I sank to my knees, and just stared. What the hell was I going to do now?

"You cant be serious Rufio. We waited all that time, and you just have to go and mess it all up? I seriously wonder if you are up for everything coming our way if opening a simple door is beyond you."

I shrugged, defeated and not having the energy to respond to the sassy doll. Considering I was liekly going to be stuck in there forever with said doll, perhaps I should have been nicer but at this moment I had nothing left. After all, there was no need to be nice to myself. I deserved every ounce of abuse my subconscious deemed fit as punishment for my goof.

There was a quiet grind of metal on metal that jolted me from the funk I was quickly settling into. I took sight of what was making the noise, and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. Outside of the cell stood the doll. It was holding the key with both little hands, and with great effort was dragging it back. The dolls little body trembled with exertion, as the key must have been heavy for something so small and without any actual muscles. It took a minute, but eventually both the key and the doll were in arms reach. I grasped both, and pulled them close.

I stared at the doll with newfound appreciation and suspicion.

"I am not crazy." I told the doll, straight to its face. More of a conformation of the fact to myself than to it. "Crazy doesn't let you bring me a key that was definitely out of my reach."

"I wouldn't go that far." Was its flat toned response, "You are certainly crazy, but not crazy enough to imagine me, no. Now quit playing with dolls and open the cell already, i'm as sick of this place as you are."

I considered simply obeying, but I stopped myself. No, this shit had gone on long enough and I needed some answers. I tightened my grip on the doll, and narrowed my eyes.

"Not until you tell me who you are, where the hell I am, whats going on, and how I got here..." I thought about it for a moment, "...and why the hell I look like an overcooked steak. Otherwise i'm just going to keep squeezing and see what happens."

Now may not have been the time for questioning, if my theories were correct, but that didn't bother me much. Everything leading up to this point hadn't exactly left me in the most rational state of mind.

I have no idea how I was able to tell, but I got the distinct impression the doll was rolling its eyes at me.

"First off steak? Don't flatter yourself, your lucky if you get the comparison to a burnt chicken nugget. Secondly drop the tough guy routine, it doesn't suit you Rufio. You want to know where you are? Why are you asking me? You may be dense but you cant be that stupid. Now open the thrice damned cell and face what is happening like a grown man."

There is something abjectly humiliating about getting a dressing down by a small talking doll that you had been cuddling more often than you would like to admit. But it did have a point, and in its sassiness it did let slip some of the answers I wanted. I stood, doll in one hand and key in the other.

This time, with the up most care and caution I tried again to open the cell. I managed to avoid giving the jagged metal that had pierced me the first time a second coating of my blood, and slid the key into place. With a flick of my wrist, the key turned in the lock and with surprising ease and the gate swung open. Freedom was finally before me, I could finally leave the cell.

The opening of the cell was the final nail in the coffin. All of the facts now pointed to one irrefutable conclusion, one true understanding of the situation at hand. The eye with the teeth, the "deal" we had made...It had indeed given me a second chance, but it had pulled a fast one on me beyond what I had initially thought. It didn't resurrect me in any old world, it resurrected me in one I knew perhaps even better than I had known my own. One arguably WORSE than my own in nearly every conceivable way. One fought with danger, horror, monsters, despair, and fates far worse than simple death could ever hope to compare to.

"Dark Souls." I spoke the words aloud, and my voice echoed down the hallway mixing with the thumping stomps which I now knew not to be imaginary but instead the pacing of the one of the horrific demons which patrolled here. Here being the Undead Asylum, the place where all undead were corralled and locked away to await the end of the world.

I shook my head and chuckled, for some reason finding the thought hysterical.

Strangely enough, the doll chuckled right along with me.

* * *

So, first off there is the obvious change to this chapter title than was initially previewed. Estus Flask will instead be the name of chapter 3, and now that you all have gotten a taste of just how much more is going to be in this story from the first go around, id love to hear your predictions on just what might be different now!

Speaking of different, possibly the most glaring change from the original narrative has been the introduction of the doll as a character. Do tell me what your initial impressions are, and how you reacted to its little introduction into SoaIH. Also, not to spoil anything but the doll does have ties to a distinct character, and there is a reason why its alive and moving. I'm curious to what suspicions you all might have, if any. However I will have to nip one particular vein of growing theories in the bud and confirm right now that the doll is not the long lost child of Maneater Mildred.

Not a particularly long authors note today as I am a bit rushed for time but before I go id like to thank you all for the warm welcome back into the writing world. It feels good to be back into the swing of things, and im just as eager to see where all of this will take us.

Some knowledge granted, some forgotten. The world is much stranger than memory serves to claim.

How honest is kindness when hunger gnaws in the skin?

Thou who art undead, art chosen...

...But what is fate to one who doesn't belong?

And what secrets are to be uncovered by the searching of the deprived?

All this and more in chapter 3 of Soul of an Intrepid Hero, Estus Flask

Until next time, remember to spay and neuter your pets, tip your waitresses, and praise the sun!

* * *

P.S. Before I forget, its time for some shameless promotion! If you care for gaming bullshit of various varieties, dont forget to check out the Youtube channel im working on with my buddies!

watch?v=wAufu9H6xOo

Is our most recent video. Its just some fucking around in Rainbow Six, but we will have Dark Souls content up soon! If you do watch, please leave a comment with what you think. We are still working on getting used to editing as a whole, so any input will be apprecaited!

watch?v=kMXvT0Y3LSI

Also, here is the previously made Overwatch video that is worth checking out for shits and giggles.

Alright alright im done, back to writing. Peace


	3. Chapter 3: Estus Flask

The hallway beyond my cell was initially just like the dinky little room that I had just left. Puddles of water far beyond murky were interspersed between a floor of cracked stone bricks, having dripped from unseen channels and canals in the ceiling. Here and there where various dark splotches of mold which had taken a liking to the dark dampness of the asylum. As I walked doll in hand, and trying to avoid stepping my bare feet in the puddles my eyes searched constantly. If this was Dark Souls truly that I had been placed in, then I should know this place like the back of my hand.

But upon the back of my hand was that dark, burning ring of flesh I knew now to be the darksign, and it was just as new to me when I woke up as this hallway was to me now. It wasn't the same as I recalled, so far anyway. As things were, the hallway was much longer than I felt like it should have been and lined with other cells that I didn't recognize. I moved slowly, and peered into each one by one. Most if not all were smaller than the one I had been trapped within, and aside from the most basic of furnishings were devoid of life. One or two, I noticed, had their gates wide open. In place of where the lock should have been, a twisted metal wreck sat upon the frame. Upon examining it closer, it looked like it had been busted open some how from the inside.

That did NOT inspire me with confidence, but I managed to stay determined and pressed on.

Initially the path the hallway had taken had snaked to the left, and lead me away from the thumps of the demon wandering in the bowels of the Undead Asylum. That was a solid relief at first, but as I came to the first turn at the end of the hallway I felt my stomach sink a little bit. It was a right turn, and as I approached the once fading thumps were beginning to increase in volume. I peered around the corner, cautious to not blindly blunder into possible danger.

The hallway I had been first expecting greeted my eyes, and a sense of nostalgia washed over me. It blended strangely with the unease as I considered what I was seeing and what I might have to do to get past it.

For the briefest moments it was what I imagined looking into a mirror would look like as my form was now. Tall, emaciated, with rust brown dried skin. Hollows. The form of man without humanity and craving souls. Basically zombies, yet all the faster and intelligent. Some of them may have kept their minds, and others retaining only their skills from their previous life and an endless hunger. The true extent of the curse of the Undead, and the fate of all which bore the darksign.

Two of these hollows stalked the hallway, their steps irregular and out of sync with the tempo set by the Stray demon. I watched them stumble about, their movements random. The furthest away continuously walked in a circle before placing its head against the stone wall and striking it with its fist before repeating the process. With the distance being what it was, I couldn't get good look at its face.

The second was much closer, and it seemed content to just lurch back and forth. Occasionally it would raise its bowed head to look around, as if confused, but then it must have forgotten whatever it was that would instigate the reaction for it would then return to its patrol. Hollows, perhaps to that state of decrepitude must have had terrible eyesight. At one point the second hollow was facing my way and looked around, but managed not to see me. I, however, got a perfect view of its "face".

The skin was stretched so tightly around the bone that it made its entire head look more like a painted skull than anything else. Gap toothed and slack jawed, it almost reminded me of some cheap Halloween decorations if it wasn't so obviously real. What really sent the chill down my spine were its eyes. Sunken deep into their sockets, from what I can tell they had become black and rotted. All that shown through was a burning red grow from where the pupils used to be, searching endlessly and finding nothing.

I wanted to scream. Not because the Hollow in front of me was so terrifying but because I might look exactly like it. Thankfully I was able to resist that urge and instead came up with a plan. In the game, these hollows were non-violent and ignored your passage but with everything as it was I didn't feel like taking a chance with my Undead ass getting a bite taken out of it.

So I reached down, grabbed a loose chunk of stone, and hurled it as far as I could down the hallway to distract the two so I could sneak past. It was a disappointing throw to say the least, and I wasn't proud to see my stone skip halfway down the hall before coming to rest. To my chagrin the neither of the two hollows even bothered to glance at it, making my genius plan a failure.

But it wasn't a total loss, it showed me that perhaps the two were more apathetic than they first appeared, and that I might actually be able to simply walk by them. I looked at the doll for some form of confirmation, but it must have not cared either way for it continued to play its part as a lifeless toy. I took a deep breath so I could avoid breathing until I had passed this obstacle, and strode forward with more confidence than I felt.

The closer I got to the first hollow, the more tense I began to feel. Anxiety welled up within me, and my bony fingers began to shake. I squeezed the doll tight with one hand, and my other I could do nothing with except to keep it at my side. Unintentionally I was trying to make myself as small as possible so as to attract as little attention as possible. I even hunched over a little bit, but kept my neck craned out so as to keep a vigilant eye on the approaching horror. When I think back on it I must have looked something like a deranged, starving turkey afflicted with parkinsons, or something of that ilk.

For all my fear an anxiety, passing by the first hollow was uneventful and completely anti-climactic. Perhaps it really had no awareness of its surroundings, or perhaps I was just as hollow as it and thus not worth its time, for it paid me no mind. Even I was even the slightest bit less tense I might have sighed, but even with the first obstacle behind me I was still wound tighter than a spring in a clockwork dildo. There was still another hollow to pass, the one trying to get into a fist fight with a brick all, as well as...

As well as the Stray Demon. In my intense focus towards passing the first hollow I had failed to look to my right, through a damaged wall and a network of metal support beams that had once held the brick and mortar steady. Past that was a large open enclosure, illuminated by various ethereal torches and a beam of light from overhead. What was being illuminated was something best left to the imagination, and something the game had never quite done justice. Something that no person should ever have to witness in person, living or dead.

It was easily as tall as four men, and as wide as two cars side by side. It lumbered around on two thick legs, covered in warty rolls of dark green fat that rippled when it moved, betraying the hidden muscle underneath. Spikes of twisted and ragged bone protruded from its upper thighs, drawing ones attention to the ridiculous bulk that was its bloated stomach. It had an underbelly, like a snake or lizard which was pale tan in comparison to the verdancy of the rest of the beast. It too, was marked by rolls and lines of fatty tissue which stretched up past its comparatively thin arms and the large axe like object it held as a weapon, all the way up to its chin.

Its face was something equally as malformed as the rest of it, with a gaping lipless mouth of rotted gums and fang like teeth below twin burning eyes all too small to fit in with the rest of its features. Upon its head was a crown of antlers both bony and somehow woodlike simultaneously. It stalked a certain path in that room, a patrol which its reasoning for doing so must only have been known to it. It turned its head away from my general direction to keep stomping and I was able to see its boney spine like tail, and the stubby little wings which I knew were more than capable of lifting its weight despite their apparent inadequacy for the job.

Id like to say that I was able to calmly assess the situation, to look at the beasty and then continue on my way like I hadn't just seen a terrifying demon straight from the pits of hell...or this worlds analog but I wasn't. In truth I shrieked, catching the attention of both hollows and maybe would have the demon if its own footsteps were not so loud. Knowing I had just did the verbal equivalent of shitting my pants and ignoring a noise from the doll which could have easily be interpreted as a sassy sigh, I did the only reasonable thing. The only true option in situations like this, where danger and embarrassment were distinct outcomes.

I decided to beat feet and ran like hell down the rest of the hallway. Behind me the hollows let out a low moan, but if they gave chase I was unable to tell for the sound of my own flesh slapping stone was all I could hear. The hallway stretched on a bit farther than I would have liked, but quickly came to an end as I reached an open doorway and nearly dove into it. The room was much dimmer than the already darkened area I had just left behind, and was partially flooded in a lower section of the floor. Sitting in the corner, ass deep in water was another hollow who barely spared my sprinting ass a glance before returning to its sulking.

I slowed down slightly, not out of relaxation but more out a brief stroke of exhaustion but I managed to keep moving. I passed the flooded room to get to a rusted ladder that lay right beyond, and began to ascend that with an eagerness spurned partially by fear and partially by memory. I was pretty sure that this room was familiar to me, and that if my hunch was correct above this ladder was something truly fantastic.

So I pressed on and despite the burning ache that settled in halfway up its length, I managed to keep a solid pace. I could feel its corroded and rough surface bite into the palms of my hands, and for the first time I was happy to have such thick skin because I knew that if my hide wasn't so leathery I would be a bleeding mess by this point.

But eventually the light above grew brighter above me, and I could see that my physical exertion was soon to be over, and half a minute later I pulled myself from the shaft and onto hard, loving, unforgiving dirt. The dusty soil felt oddly wonderful against my roughened palms, and I grasped at it greedily. At first I did anyway, after a brief moment the dirt began to sting and I quickly rubbed my palms together to try to get as much excess dirt as I could off before moving forward.

There was something poetic about lifting oneself from the dirt to gaze at the blue sky above, and feeling some sort of freedom. I was out of my cell, away from those hollows and hopefully near the one true salvation this terrible and cruel world had to offer. In front of me was a wide and open courtyard, walled on the left and the right by rows of barred off doors and windows. Directly in front of me was a set of great, massive doors which held behind them a horror like that which laid below.

Before the doors, in the middle of the courtyard, was the salvation which I sought. At first glance, it wasn't something one would immediately equate with comfort. The object in question was primarily a large, rusted, metal spike fashioned in the shape of a twisted sword. Sort of like a screw, its four edges were spiraled down from its cross shaped guard and ring like pommel. It sat impaled and mildly askew in a nest of ash and bones in various states of completion. Some were little more than shaped powder, but others were a bit more whole such as a femur, and half a skull who's singular eye socket seemed to stare at me ruefully. It was a bonfire, unlit and slumbering but I knew with the proper stimulation it would burst forth with something fantastic.

I ran over to it, or tried to. The my sprint and the following ladder had taken a bit more out of me than I had expected, and in my disorientation I tripped halfway to it. The doll, even with its face in the dirt alongside my own, chuckled and I felt a bit of mortification. That being said, a bit of embarrassment didn't stop me from simply crawling the rest of the way to the bonfire on my hands and knees. The fact that it caused the doll in my hand to be repeatedly smooshed into the dirt was only a plus in my eyes, I wasn't above petty revenge.

In the last few feet between the me and the bonfire, I flipped my legs forward and scooted on my ass. In hindsight, not the best move since the loincloth did very little to protect my nether regions, but I figured almost all of my issues would be solved once I lit the bonfire. Placing the doll down at my side, I extended my right hand towards the sword as I keenly remembered the characters in the game having done hundreds of times before. Nothing happened, and I blinked in confusion.

The next several minutes were spent with me trying all manner of hand gestures and motions to try and get the bonfire to light. I'm not proud to admit that I even tried standing and doing a goofy little dance, and during one attempt even burst into song to vainly convince the flames to come forth. I'm still not sure that my song wouldn't have worked, had my singing voice not been so damaged from my dried vocal cords but to be fair I never tested it again.

That same rueful skull shard continued to stare mockingly at me, reflecting the ire that was building in my chest. Out of sheer frustration I raised my middle finger and thrust it forward at the skull, a direct sign for it to politely "Fuck off." while I finished figuring out what the exact hell I was trying to do.

With a loud whooshing noise the bonfire exploded into life and I fell back on my ass in surprise. Large waves of bright orange ethereal flames rose from the bones and twisted in imitation of real fire, and peaked right before reaching the end of the sword. The rush of wind gave way to a gentle crackling, and I stared in awe and shock as the bonfire burned in a way most inviting. Scooting forward a second time, to my posteriors discomfort, I reached my hand towards the pseudo flames.

Estus, I remembered as the bonfire reached back, this must have been estus. So close to fire it was that at a casual glance one wouldn't be able to tell the difference but the estus from a bonfire was thicker, and distorted the light almost like panes of glass. It moved like a liquid, flowing up my arm and enveloping my body. For a brief moment I too burned like the bonfire, the estus rising up from my form. Comfort and a soothing heat spread through my tired limbs, and anywhere there had been soreness burned hot only for a second, before being mended by the estus.

Well, save for one spot. On the back of my left hand burnt the darksign, and the estus did nothing to ease its unsavory bite. As I stared at it I put two and two together, and realized that it was only when I presented it to the bonfire (Well, to the skull specifically. It being in plain view when I made my rude gesture.) did the bonfire ignite itself. Bathed in the near orgasmic glow, I only briefly considered why that might be so. What little I knew of the lore from when I had played didnt do much to link the darksign and the bonfire, just only the Undead and the estus. Then again, such things did have an obvious correlation.

As the estus finished rejuvenating me, it drew back and once again nested itself in the bones and the flame. I felt sad to see it go, and a bit colder now that I was out of its embrace. Those feelings were completely overshadowed however by the sheer energy that was surging through me. Sure I was still the mobile equivalent of a month old chicken nugget, but now I was an energized month old chicken nugget filled with a euphoria and what was most definitely raw overconfidence. I sprang to my feet and tucked the doll into the side of my loincloth, much to its assumed displeasure. I then sprinted to the great set of double doors in front of me, this time without any form of tripping and began to push as hard as I could.

The doors were heavy, which was unsurprising as I was mildly certain that they were not exactly intended for human use. Beyond them would be the Asylum Demon, warden of this prison, who I wouldn't slow down nary a second as I passed it by because it could easily cause my to sneeze my own dick with a single swing of its fuckmassive hammer. In the following antechamber I knew there would be a door in the back left corner of the room, and I prepared myself mentally for the task at hand.

The doors, mighty as they were, gave way to my scrawny yet determined self as I managed to push them open just enough to allow me access. The room beyond had even less of a roof than my own cell, as the various bricks and chunks of stone littering the floor attested to. I started to wonder if whoever built this place had a earthenware fetish or something of the sort as various large urns and pots were the only furnishings to be seen. Most, like the ones in my cell, were long since cracked and likely only stood because of inertia. I wondered briefly what they might have been used for during the heyday of this shithole, but I didn't care enough to follow that thought through. The reason for the ceilings sorry state was apparently more than just age and disrepair, as I could see the remnants of several broken pillars that at one point must have supported it. They way they had been smashed made me swallow. It made me consider that perhaps I wasn't the first undead to try to escape this way.

That in mind I craned my neck up as far as it could go, to see if I could see the massive monstrosity I was dreading in its pre-ordained spot of far above the second set of locked double doors that lead out of its place. Oddly enough, it wasn't present and I immediately felt a sense of relief. If the asylum demon was off sodomizing some other poor soul, that would leave me free to proceed unmolested. A beaming smile grew on my face and I took a few strong steps forward, confidence surging once again.

Confidence that died with nary a scream as a massive crash echoed behind me, after I had gotten perhaps half way through my leisurely stroll through the center of the room. I spun around in horror as the great beasts form gave way through the cloud of pulverized stone, and I would have shit a brick or two if I had been able to shit at all. In my head an echoing cry of "STUPID!" began to resound. Why on earth didn't I check behind me? Why did I think that the big, ugly, son of a bitch was incapable of moving until I arrived? An idiotic assumption that just might cost me my life.

Instinct kicked in, and I had to fight the surprisingly overwhelming urge to drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes and play dead. Perhaps if the terrible beasty thought its horrifying visage had given me a heart attack, it would only somewhat mangle my corpse instead of the full blown pulverizing I was sure to get otherwise. Thankfully, I was able to ignore that instinct and instead did a full one hundred and eighty degree turn away from the demonic lardass and took off like Usain Bolt from the Klan towards where I knew the door leading to my freedom would be.

It took a second to register but once I did my heart dropped into my stomach and proceeded to drown. The metal grate that was supposed to fall over the door AFTER I had escaped had either fallen when I wasn't looking, or had never been open in the first place. I was cut off, trapped. Behind me the demon roared loud enough to literally rattle my bones, and a few heavy stops indicated that it was lunging towards me. Instinct kicked in, and this time I let it. Without thinking I dove forward as the spot where I was standing exploded into rubble. The demons swing had missed me, only barely, and it roared in frustration.

I, being no expert on dodging, wasn't able to turn my dive into any sort of proper roll. I skittered across shards of stone and broken pottery, my stomach being shredded by their sharp edges but thankfully the sensation was muted by the adrenaline. The demon continued to advance on me, and I tried to pull myself up but I kept slipping on something. I looked down to see it was my own blood. The cuts on my stomach were bleeding more than I thought they would have been able, since I was pretty much a dehydrated apple slice of a human being. But whether I believed it physically possible or not blood still gushed forth anyway, coating the floor and making my grip ever more slick.

I looked up from my own sanguinary puddle to see the demon bearing down on me, it having closed the gap as I was floundering. Its sneering mouth was wide with triumph, and it held its stupidly oversized mace like hammer poised back to strike. With a roar it swung and I knew there was no way I was getting out of this one. I was about to close my eyes, and wondered briefly if this would feel anything like getting hit by a train but the dolls little voice shouting "DUCK!" broke me free from the casual acceptance of my demise.

This time I did drop like a sack of potatoes, doing a light belly flop onto the red pool beneath me. The hammer passed above me sounding as loud as a jet engine, barely missing its mark but that was all I needed. Like some sort of deranged penguin, I slid myself forward using my own blood to smooth out the ride. I grit my teeth as more of the rough ground dug into my cuts, going the one place I was sure the demon wasn't expecting. I managed to slide halfway between the demons legs before the slipperiness of my blood got muddied down by the dust. Still determined, and more than a little terrified I grasped for anything I could to continue pulling myself forward.

The demon had seemed confused at first with my tactics, or at least I assumed as much as it hadn't tried to immediately stomp me. However once I found my handhold the demon proceeded to loose its shit. It was actually a pretty fair response, because I unwitting now had the big ugly bastard quite literally by the balls. Not one to pass up a golden opportunity, and perhaps craving a little payback I held tight to the demonic scrotum with one hand and began to furiously lash out with my other. It was nothing so coordinated as repeated, proper punches. More along the lines of just smashing my fist into its sack as many time as I could as fast as possible.

The scream the Asylum Demon let out was nearly human in its blunt agony, and I felt the floor disappear out from under me. I latched on tight with both hands, giving up my striking for simply surviving this new ordeal. If you had ever asked that at any point my life, living or undead, I thought id be suspended in mid air holding onto a demons nutsack like my life depended on it id have looked at you like you spouted three heads, two more legs, and a partridge in a pear tree.

The demon, far from happy with my tenacity began to fly directly at the nearest wall. I nearly went horizontal from the speed in which its messed up wings were amazingly capable of producing, and I didn't realize what was going on until we were nearly at the wall. Giving the scrotum one last good punch I let go and fell to the ground, hard. I wasnt very high up, but we were moving rather fast and while I managed to land on my feet I didn't stay on them for long. Momentum carried me forward into something like a log roll, thankfully not over anything sharp this time. The Demon continued forward into the wall, my last strike to its terrible testes must having disoriented it.

Pulling my batterd, bruised, and bloody self off of the floor I knew that this was my one chance to get away, to get back through those double doors and to that bonfire. It was my only hope, there was no way I had any realistic shot of beating the thing so running was the singular viable option. I took off like hell in the direction of salvation, and behind me I could here the frustrated roar as the demon tore itself free from the wall. My ears were ringing, and I felt lightheaded from the blood loss and probable concussions. Its stomping rang out from behind me, and I pumped my legs are hard as I could even in my weakened state.

Trying to time it as I did before I leapt forward with the last of my energy. The doors were so close, and while I knew it was a longshot that the bonfire might be able to save me it was worth a shot. The demon must have been smarter, or perhaps just angrier than I gave it credit for because this time it angled its swing so that dodging was impossible. With a swing Babe Ruth would be jealous off, the Asylum Demon swung its hammer like a baseball bat and man did he hit a homerun. My world went white, and I felt my spine tingle as I was launched like a missile straight at the wall. My body having gone limp, I hit the wall with a crack and then sort of just bounced off of it onto the ground.

The buzzing in my ears reminded me of a cheering crowd, and in my delirium I felt the need to start humming "Take me out to the ballgame." I had gotten a few bars in, to the point where we were supposed to root for the home team when a great shadow fell over me. I tried to lift my head, to stare my impending death in the face but I either didn't have the strength, or the ability to move my neck anymore. So I laid there, imagining what it must have looked like. A lone, bleeding, naked Undead laying face down beneath a a horrifying abomination of nature. Its great hammer raised, executioner style, suspended with grim finality. A poetic end, befitting of a fool.

I wondered what would happen next. This was Dark Souls, would I just awaken at the bonfire? Would I live in agony as several smashed pieces of Undead jelly until I somehow managed to stitch myself back together? Would I come back at all, and if I did would I even be sane, or would my second chance have been wasted and I would wander the world a mindless hollow?

I was getting pretty sick of these damn questions, and while I couldn't feel my legs I was sure they were in quite a bit of pain. I was getting frustrated, this was silly. I should be dead by now, why hadn't the demon finished the job? The irritation is what finally gave me the strength to lift my head, and I glared upward straight into its eyes.

Or, would have, had it been looking at me. The demons attention was no longer on me, but instead was fixated on something in the distance. I rolled my eyes in the direction the demon was looking, to see what was so much more interesting than finishing the damn job and putting me out of my misery. I wasn't in any particular rush to die, but if it was inevitable there wasn't any point in dragging it out.

It was the knight from earlier, the one who had dropped the corpse and key into my cell. He was waving his arms, and through the buzz in my ears I was pretty sure I could make out his shouting. He was obviously trying to get the demons attention, was it to get it away from me? From the way everything I had gone down, I was pretty sure my organs had reached the consistency of a bag of skittles. I was done for, or at least ninety percent there. He shouldn't have been risking his neck for me, there was no need or reason. I opened my mouth to try and shout back, to tell him what I was thinking. That he needed to get away, perhaps even use my death as a distraction to get the hell out of dodge.

As I tried to speak the only thing that left my body was a rasping cough and a good amount of blood. The way it felt leaving my throat also lead me to believe there were some bone chips in there as well, and maybe a razor blade or two.

The demon glanced at me in the midst of my coughing, measuring whether or not id be able to get away and escape its revenge if it took a brief hiatus to pulverize the Knight. It seems like two out of the three of us knew I wasn't getting up because the demon let out a snort of what sounded suspiciously like contempt and satisfaction before waddling off in the direction of the aforementioned Knight. I wanted to make a similar sound when I realized the demon was having a hard time walking, but my faculties left me unable.

The knight shouted one last insult. Something referring to the demons family line, a goat, and a reference to its weight. The Demon must have been able to comprehend human speech because it seemed legitimately angered by the Knights words, and leapt into the air with a thrust of its still oddly functional wings. The Knight must not have been expecting the Demon to be able to do so (Who would?) and stood shocked for a moment before springing into action. He grabbed something off of his belt and hurled it in my general direction before turning around and taking off. The demon soon reached the roof and gave chase, but my attention had already been captured by what the Knight had thrown.

It glinted in the sunlight as it flew through the air, golden as honey and fire. It tinked like glass as it hit the stones in the center of the room, but did not shatter. I watched it with my still mobile eyes as it rolled, bounced, and turned before coming to a stop a good fifteen feet away from me. Part of me wanted to congratulate the Knight on his pretty solid throw, but most of me was freaking out internally. There, so close yet so far away, was the one thing that could save me. I recognized that bottle anywhere, anyone would. It was an Estus Flask, the only container capable of holding a bonfires glory, and of replicating its healing properties.

The knight shouldn't have thrown it to me. It was too risky. These things were supposed to be rare if my admittedly spotty memory was to be believed. I doubted he had a second one, and if he was unable to get away from the demon and was injured fighting it...he could end up like me. Something in me burned, and I didn't think it was just the stomach acid spilling into my lungs either. I had a chance, an opportunity. I could survive this, if I could just get to that flask and if I could do that I could help the Knight who had already risked far too much to help me.

Thus began the most painful fifteen feet of my new life...so far.

* * *

Well ladies and gents, chapter three is up and running. Its been a long week so ill probably rewrite this authors note later since im tired as all kinds of fuck.


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